The Problem With Always Being Able To Figure It Out

When I turned 30, my energy shifted.

I was holding this strange mixture of grief and gratitude. Grief that I seemed to have nothing to show for my twenties, and gratitude that I had made it this far and that, in a lot of ways, my life is just getting started.

For a while, I kept looking backward at all the things I had done wrong—the decisions I regretted. The time I felt like I wasted. The things I thought I should have figured out by now.

But eventually I started seeing those experiences differently.

Maybe I don't need to be proud of every decision I've made.

Maybe I just need to be willing to learn from them.

I can let my twenties show me what I don't want anymore. I can take responsibility for the ways I've participated in creating my own circumstances. I can decide to do something differently.

Which sounds incredibly empowering until you actually have to hold the mirror up to yourself.

Because responsibility isn't always about admitting that something happened to you.

Sometimes it's realizing that something keeps happening through you.

And that realization has been pretty uncomfortable.

I've Always Been the One Who Figures It Out

I've always been a go-getter.

I'm resourceful. I'm independent. I'm capable. If something needs to get done, I'll figure it out.

I've been praised for this my entire life.

And for a long time, I wore that identity proudly.

I'm the person who doesn't need much help.

I'm the person who can make a way out of no way.

I'm the person who can pull some shit together at the last minute and somehow make it work.

The problem is that eventually I realized...

I don't actually want that to be my defining characteristic.

Sometimes I want someone else to figure it out.

Sometimes I want somebody to hand me the answer.

Sometimes I want to be taken care of.

And honestly, I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

The uncomfortable part was realizing that there is a part of me that benefits from the very thing I say I don't want.

My coach asked me a question that really made me sit with this:

When you find yourself in situations that are familiar or repeated—especially situations you say you don't want—what sneaky part of you benefits from them?

I didn't have an immediate answer.

So I started paying attention.

And eventually I wrote this in my journal:

"The part that can always figure it out regardless of whether I get help or not.

Wait until the last minute. Shit hits the fan. Ask for help. I'll figure it out eventually.

Lacking self-trust. Lose motivation until I get tired of my own shit.

Not incorporating pleasure.

Subconsciously not believing I've earned it.

More energy leaks.

Avoidant when things stop working.

Running back to old habits. Familiarity. Scarcity patterns.

Not wanting to be seen.

Using tech issues and being busy with other work as excuses for exhaustion and avoidance."

Reading it back, I could see something I hadn't really put into words before.

I don't just avoid asking for help.

I wait until I need help badly enough that I can hope someone else will come in and save the day.

And if they do?

Great.

I get to be taken care of without having to admit that I wanted it all along.

But if they don't?

I get to say that I figure it out anyway and prove I was capable the whole time.

I get to tell myself—and potentially have other people tell me—that I'm strong, resourceful, resilient, and somehow managed to pull it all together.

So either way, that part of me wins.

Someone else saves me, or I save myself and get the praise for doing it.

That's the sneaky part.

Because I've always thought of my ability to figure things out as proof of my strength.

But what if sometimes it's also a way of avoiding the vulnerability of actually receiving?

What if I'm keeping myself in situations where I have to be strong because some part of me has gotten very comfortable being rewarded for it?

That's a much harder pill to swallow.

That's Where the Sabotage Gets Sneaky

I don't think self-sabotage always looks like consciously doing something that hurts you.

Sometimes it looks like a behavior that has worked for you for a very long time.

Sometimes it looks like resilience.

Sometimes it looks like independence.

Sometimes it looks like being responsible.

Sometimes it even looks like productivity.

I've been thinking about how often I allow one obstacle to become a reason to stop everything.

Recently, I was in the middle of my Expose Your Truth challenge. I was building momentum, becoming more visible, and actually enjoying what was coming from consistently showing up.

Then my Instagram account got suspended. And the same day, my email list stopped sending messages.

Neither of those things were imaginary. They were legitimate problems. They interrupted the systems I had been using to communicate, market, and stay visible.

And I was frustrated as hell. So I stopped.

At first, it made sense.

I needed to figure out what was happening. I needed to regroup. I needed to rethink how I was showing up and how I wanted to move forward.

But somewhere along the way, regrouping became a really convenient place to stay.

Because I had a legitimate reason not to show up.

I could point to the suspended account.

I could point to the broken email system.

I could point to the disruption and say, See? I can't really move forward until I figure this out.

And that is where I had to get honest with myself.

The obstacle was real.

But so was the avoidance.

I can be genuinely exhausted and still be avoiding something.

I can have a legitimate obstacle and still use it as a reason to disengage.

I can need to regroup and still eventually have to decide when regrouping has turned into hiding.

That's especially complicated when your work already requires you to navigate obstacles that other people don't necessarily have to think about.

I work in pleasure and sex education. I'm also a sex worker.

There are already additional layers of visibility, censorship, platform restrictions, and creative problem-solving that come with building this kind of business.

I'm constantly having to figure out how to communicate what I mean without losing the meaning in the process.

So when something gets taken away or stops working, there is a very real exhaustion that comes with having to build another workaround.

But I've realized that sometimes I take that exhaustion and turn it into permission to disappear.

And that's the part I'm working on.

Not pretending the obstacles aren't real.

Not forcing myself to push through everything.

Just becoming more honest about the difference between resting, regrouping, and running away.

Maybe I Don't Have to Earn It

I think this is also where my relationship with pleasure comes into the picture.

Because I've been noticing how often I approach pleasure with the same mentality I approach everything else:

Do the work. Figure it out. Earn the reward.

I'm a pleasure consultant.

And yet I can still catch myself treating pleasure like something that comes after the work.

After I finish this.

After I figure that out.

After I make enough money.

After I get organized.

After I get back on track.

After I become the version of myself who has earned it.

And that's a pretty fucking exhausting way to experience pleasure.

I've been trying to make it simpler.

Yesterday, that looked like sitting on the couch and turning the television off so I could hear the rain and wind outside.

That's it.

No elaborate ritual.

No expensive purchase.

No sexual experience.

No productivity attached to it.

Just noticing something that felt good and allowing myself to experience it.

I added it to my pleasure menu because it reminded me that pleasure doesn't always require me to do something.

Sometimes it requires me to stop doing.

Sometimes it requires me to receive.

Sometimes it requires me to pay attention long enough to notice that something good is already happening.

And maybe that's part of what I've been missing.

I've been so focused on figuring things out that I haven't always left myself much room to experience them.

What If Consistency Isn't About Forcing It?

That realization has also changed the way I'm thinking about consistency.

I've spent a lot of time equating consistency with repetition.

Do the thing every day.

Don't miss a day.

Stick to the plan.

Follow through.

Keep going.

And there is absolutely value in discipline and follow-through.

But I don't want consistency to become another way I abandon myself.

Because if the goal is maintaining the plan at all costs, I stop asking whether the plan still makes sense.

I stop asking what I actually need.

I stop listening.

I just perform consistency.

And that feels eerily similar to the pattern I'm already trying to break.

I'm realizing that consistency might look a lot more like staying connected to myself while things change.

Sometimes I need to keep going.

Sometimes I need to adjust.

Sometimes I need to ask for help.

Sometimes it’s admitting that I don’t want to do it anymore.

Sometimes I need to rest and come back to something later.

The important part is that I’m still paying attention.

That’s part of what I’ve realized through the Expose Your Truth challenge. I started it with the intention of showing up for 30 consecutive days, and somewhere along the way, that stopped being what I needed.

The challenge was supposed to be about telling the truth. I don’t think telling the truth becomes less meaningful because I didn’t do it according to the original timeline.

So I’m still going to finish it. It just won’t be 30 days anymore. It’ll be 30 truths.

And that honestly feels much more aligned with what I’m actually trying to practice right now: showing up because I have something I genuinely want to say, not because I’ve created another rule that I now have to prove I can follow.

I'm Still Learning What That Looks Like

I think one of the strangest parts of becoming a pleasure consultant is accepting that I don't have to know everything about pleasure.

I'm still learning.

I'm learning that pleasure changes. My desires change. My capacity changes. What feels good today might not feel good tomorrow.

And that doesn't make me inconsistent.

It makes me human.

Maybe that's true for the rest of my life, too.

Maybe I don't need to have one perfect system that works forever. Maybe I can pay attention, make adjustments, ask for help, try something different, and trust that changing my mind doesn’t mean I’ve failed.

That’s a very different kind of self-reliance.

Not I can do everything myself.

More like, I trust myself to figure out what I need.

And I think that’s what I’m really learning at 30.

I’ve spent so much of my life being proud of how much I can handle. I’m still proud of that. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being the person who can figure some shit out.

I just don’t want figuring it out to always be the prerequisite for being okay.

I want to know what it’s like to receive before I’m desperate for it.

To ask for help before everything is on fire.

To let pleasure exist in the middle of the process instead of waiting until I’ve earned it.

To keep showing up without needing to force myself into the version of consistency I thought I was supposed to have.

I’m still figuring out what that looks like.

But at least now I’m paying attention.